We Swing To Love In This Crazy World
by italianmagician
Summary: Lovino and Chiara have immigrated to America, and one night, Lovino takes his sister, who hasn't learned English yet, to a big party. One Alfred F. Jones catches sight of the Italian girl and decides to try and befriend her. Human AU. 1920s.
1. Chapter 1

A fanfiction based in the 1920s, in a nice east-coast town of America, human AU.

_Lovino and Chiara have immigrated to America, and one night, Lovino takes his sister, who hasn't learned English yet, to a big party. One Alfred F. Jones catches sight of the Italian girl and decides to try and befriend her._

_Ameroma/Romerica with some implied (and maybe later, real) Romacest._

_Mostly hetero._

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><p>The blond man appeared to be eighteen or nineteen, and he was a very skilled eighteen or nineteen year old at that. He'd been playing his trumpet like nobody's business for close to an hour, swing and jazz and everything in between, purely for the enjoyment of a select hundred people or so. The party was in full swing, pardon the pun, and he'd been watching the crowd of dancers have the time of their lives, getting increasingly impatient with the man who was supposed to come take his place and give him a break.<p>

As the song he and his group of friends from school finished the song and everyone cleared off the floor to take a short break, out of breath, the teenager caught a glimpse of a delicate girl with an air of foreignness. She was looking about her, a confused look in her emerald eyes. He had to smile and take a moment to admire her beauty, her auburn locks of wavy hair falling perfectly around her slim face and slightly tanned skin. His brother nudged him, a grin on his own face as he sidled up to the younger. "Hey, Al, ya got a fancy for tha' gal? She's sure pretty," Matthew teased.

One Alfred F. Jones laughed. "She's a beauty, but she looks kinda lost, don't she? Reckon I should go show her aroun', seein' as you're here now, Matt!" He grinned and winked at his older brother, putting down his trumpet next to his chair and standing up. "She's been standin' on th' sides th' whole time, an' I jus' can't have a pretty lady like her all alone at a party." He threw a lazy salute at the conductor, who nodded and went about telling one of the saxophone players, Nikolas, something.

He jauntily swaggered off the stage, whistling tunelessly and simply jumping off the front, his shoes making a heavy _thump_ as they hit the wooden floor. He wove his way through the clusters of people ecstatic with dancing and romance and the overall happy atmosphere, patting some friends on the back, lifting his fedora from his head briefly to many ladies.

His targeted gal didn't move an inch, just looking around with those gorgeous green eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally made it to the girl. Gently, he tapped her shoulder, a bright smile on his face. "'Ey there, miss. Can I int'rest ya in a dance?"

The brunette started, lurching away from his touch, and looking at Alfred with wide green eyes. Oh! They really were beautiful, comparable to real emeralds. Not that Alfred had ever _seen _a real emerald, but he thought the comparison appropriate. It couldn't hurt, it wasn't like he'd said anything aloud. "Did ya hear me, sugar?" he asked. She looked around frantically, biting her lip, and said something that the man didn't quite catch. Alfred frowned. "What?"

The lady looked about her some more. "_F-Fratello?"_ she called, a bit louder than she had before. "_Dove sei?"_ The American so close to her intimidated her, standing a good foot or so over her. She knew she was short, but really. Why had she agreed to come to this party with her brother? She didn't even know much English at all yet, and it wasn't like Lovino was showing her- _There he was._

Alfred leaned closer to the girl, a concerned look on his face. "'Ey, are ya all right, miss? Tha' di'n't make any sense." Hm, now that he looked closer, she really reminded him of one of those immigrants that'd come flooding into the town this year. The one in question was a nasty fellow, a quick forked tongue on him. Not two weeks after moving into the house across town, he'd managed to make a name for himself on the streets. Nothing fancy, either, just "Romano." Maybe it meant something in Italy, where the teenager had come from, just himself and a rumored lady- Nobody knew if there really was a lady in his house, though. The story was that he'd kidnapped an Italian woman and now kept her in his house.

This girl looked a lot like him, aside from the fact she was a lady- a pretty one at that- and was shorter. Hm. Alfred wondered if she'd said something in Italian, and if so, where Romano was so he could ask the hothead what she'd said.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say.

The Italian teen in question walked up behind Alfred, his face dark with irritation and disgust. "Jones. What the hell do you think you're-a doing, _bastardo?" _

The blonde spun around in surprise. "Oh! Romano! I was jus' wonderin' if ya were here," he started, but was cut off by the other.

"That doesn't answer my-a question, _idiota." _His eyes- Oh, they were green too! How strange!- narrowed suspiciously. "What do you think you're doing even looking at-a my _sorella?_"

"Your-a what-a?" Alfred blinked at the strange term, not knowledgable in Italian. "You mean this girl?" He pointed at the brunette.

Romano rolled his eyes, holding a hand out to the girl. "_Vieni qui, sorella. Lui è un idiota, non si deve parlare con lui._" She oblingingly took his hand, letting him pull her into his arms and listening closely to what he said. The language was clearly Italian, and she said something back rapidly. Romano sighed.

"This, _idiota, _is my sister. She's-a the only one who came to America with-a me, and if you lay a single finger on her, you're-a going to have hell to pay." He held her a little closer and she frowned at him.

"Quello che sono due dicendo, Lovino?" Her voice was soft, and Alfred smiled. He would bet his trumpet that she was a beautiful singer. Ah, if only she knew English! She pursed her lips, crossing her arms. "Perché non mi insegni inglese?" Oh, she would be an incredible singer, he decided.

He interrupted before Romano could reply to his sister. "What's her name? I'd like ta at least think 'f her as somethin' o'er than Romano's sister, ya know?"

The girl's face brightened a little, recognizing 'her name' in Alfred's words, and before her brother could answer him, she piped up in that melodic voice of hers, "My name Chiara!" It was rough, and she hardly knew English, but she at least knew that. She ignored Romano's ranting in Italian to try to hush her up. "Who are-a you?"

Alfred smiled at her. Oh, so there was some English in there. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, it's a pleasure ta meet ya, miss Chiara." Her Italian accent made her quite endearing to him, he thought. Maybe he could convince Romano to let him teach her English. Particularly if he offered to do so for free. He knew the man was busy trying to support her and himself and likely didn't have much time to teach her.

Chiara turned to Lovino, looking up at him with a confused but pleading expression. "Oi, I'm not-a translating for you, Jones," he growled at Alfred, who simply grinned and pushed his glasses a bit further up his nose.

"Why doncha' let me teach yer sister English, then, Vargas?" This might go well. The Italian seemed like a businessman, and if he played his cards right, he might agree.

Alfred might even end up scoring himself a lady. How promising!

Chiara looked between the two men, not having understood a word of the sentence other than 'Vargas' and 'English'. "Che cosa?" she whispered to her brother.

It was an offer to be taken seriously, Lovino thought. He was incredibly pressed to find a job so he could feed his sister, the closest person in the world to him. When his father found out the two of them had moved to America while he was away, he would be furious. Losing his precious sibling would be even worse when his father learned of it- The man had a hidden horrible rage behind closed doors. It was why they'd run to begin with, as their brother and sister were the favorites, who never were scolded.

"Volete lui a insegnare inglese, sorella?" he muttered to her under his breath. "Non devi dire di sì, sia." His hand stroked her hair. The American was a pest, a smartmouth, a cocky man, but he seemed like he'd be a good teacher. And he hadn't seen the bespectacled man mistreat a lady so far.

Lovino was an Italian. A businessman. A son. A brother. But he was a protective brother, and from now on, he thought that her learning English would be the best way to keep her safe while he was busy. She'd at least be able to go around the neighborhood then.

Alfred watched the way the other man held his sister close, a smile twitching at his lips. One only had to look at the pair to see that they were related, that they really cared for each other. It was like watching two people on the same wavelength, and he wondered if they were actually twins. It was possible, he supposed. Even as the girl nodded in response to whatever his question had been, it was quite clear the two were close. just in the way Lovino looked at her.

Lovino brought her hands to his lips and kissed the back of each, then kissed both her cheeks. It was something the pair had done ever since they were little, just to tell the other in a kind of code that they were there for each other. He met her eyes with his, two identical shades of green mixing together as he gave her a look to tell her to be safe. His sister nodded, understanding what he meant.

Slowly, he loosened his arm around her waist. "All right, Jones. But there's rules, you understand? First rule: She will not-a learn about my time on the streets- That means that she will not-a even hear "Romano" in reference to me, you got it, bastardo?" He glared at the American.

Alfred nodded, understanding his sentiments- If he had a sister, and he were a man of status on the streets, he wouldn't want her to hear of it. "Yeah, I got it," he confirmed. "What else? I'm righ' sure that isn't all."

"Che. You bet-a your ass that isn't all. Second-a rule: if she doesn't like-a what you're doing or how you-a teach, you leave her alone, capito?" This was merely precautionary, in all honesty.

"Yup, I hear ya, Vargas."

"Third rule: You always bring-a her to me when you're-a done, and if I'm not home, you wait with her until I am."

Only a nod. Alfred's parents wouldn't mind.

"That's about it. But so you know, che cosa means 'what' and _che cosa è questo_ means 'what is that'."

The teen nodded again, committing the terms to memory, then Lovino grudgingly let go of Chiara. Alfred smiled warmly, kindly, welcoming and friendly. He held out his hand to her.

Shyly, Chiara took his hand, hesitant to leave her brother's arms. Alfred lifted it to his lips and kissed it gently, watching her adorable face blush a little bit over the rim of his glasses. He bowed, removing his hat from his head and holding it over his heart.

The band over onstage suddenly erupted in cheers, several "_He got her"s_ and "_You owe me a good ten!"s_. Clearly, they'd doubted Alfred and his ability to worm around in business. Chiara turned her face to the band, looking curious and mildly concerned. Alfred took the chance to stick his tongue out at his friends while she wasn't looking, and they ignored him deliberately, picking up their instruments innocently.

The blond couldn't help but grin as the sound of a sweet love ballad started to sound through the room. The words weren't there, true, but they weren't needed as couples streamed back onto the floor, holding each other close and humming the tune, some of them singing it softly to their partners.

Getting an idea, Alfred pointed to the swaying couples. "Dance?" She followed his finger with her eyes, then bit her lip.

"Don't-a know." He grinned, gently leading her to the floor.

"Perfect. I'll show ya." He tossed his hat the distance to the stage, it sliding to a stop at the pianist's, Roderich, feet. The brunette onstage simply nudged it away from the pedals of the piano, then kept on playing. Staying near the outside of the crowd of dancers, he moved her hand to his shoulder, putting his own on her waist, then took her other, smiling encouragingly. "Like this, miss Chiara."

She blushed a tiny bit, flustered. He was tall. She hadn't really thought of herself as excessively short before, but now she supposed she must be. Even Lovino was a bit taller than her than he used to be. Speaking of, where had he gone?

Why, to the wall by the stage, with the best view of the room, of course.

"We dance in America," Alfred said, leading her about the floor, taking care to not be an unappreciated leader. "Alfred and Chiara dance in America."

"We dance in America, Alfred and Chiara," she echoed. "Danziamo in America. Alfred e Chiara danza in America." She let him lead her about the floor, admiring how he led, not a pushy partner and not someone who always wanted the lady to lead. There'd been quite a few of both kinds back in Italy, when she'd danced at parties she'd gone to with friends.

He grinned, nodding. "Yeah, that's right. We dance in America. Americans dance." He slowly led her around the edge of the crowd, the ballad nearing its end. "Danziamo in America? Is that 'we dance in America'?"

She nodded in reply, then pointed at the musicians. "Jazz band? Musicisti?"

"Jazz band, yeah." He lifted a hand, moving his fingers like he would if he had his trumpet in hand. "I play trumpet in that band. I'm a musician."

Her face lit up with interest. "Tromba? You tromba?" She beamed. She wanted to play the trumpet, but only knew how to play saxophone and piano. Chiara pointed to herself. "Musicisti, I pianoforte e sassofono." The Italian moved her hand to show the instruments she played, the piano and saxophone quite obvious. Any musician would recognize such instruments.

"Oh! Really?" His grin grew wider, his blue eyes shining. "Piano and saxophone? Can you read music well?" Oops. Would she understand that? Perhaps "read music" would be a universal term for musicians. "Musicians read music the first time," he clarified. She nodded.

"Si, I read musica. Letto musica." She cocked her head, curious. "Che cosa?" There was a look of excitement in his eyes. What did he want her to do?

The song came to a soft close, and Alfred pulled Chiara off the floor, knowing that the band would do a quick swing next, and he highly doubted that the Italian knew the steps. She simply followed him, looking around at all the looks of clear jealously some of the women were giving her. Clearly, Alfred was a desired man. Any woman would know what the looks were, but the American seemed blissfully ignorant of such things.

Alfred's mind was running quickly, and he led her up to the stage, jumping up himself and motioning for her to stay where she was. He nudged the conductor, a fun and energetic man by the name of Ian, a Scotsman. "Hey, this pretty li'l lady here says she knows piano. Wanna see if she's good a' swing?"

Ian's gaze turned to the blond's face, and he grinned. "Ya mean tha' beauty ya jus' danced with?" Alfred nodded. "Sure, after this tune's done, we can le' tha' gorgeous gal have her turn on the piano." He winked, then turned back to the boys.

The teenager would have jumped in excitement, but instead he coolly hopped off the stage to land by the Italian woman. He took her hand in his. "Perform piano?" He pointed to the beautiful grand piano on the stage, currently being played by a fellow named Roderich. "You want to?"

Chiara's gaze went from Alfred, to the piano, back to Alfred again. "I play pianoforte?" He nodded, and she bit her lip. "Che cosa?" She debated it. She hadn't been able to play in months, but she'd been good before. "Play... Play what?"

He patted her head. "Yeah. I'm sure you're great at it!" Well, she could play anything she knew already, he supposed, but if she could read the music Roderich had up there, that would be amazing. "Music up there," he told her, pointing to the piano, where there was indeed music being played. "You can read it, right?"

She nodded slowly. "Si," she said. Well, she could try, anyway.

He grinned, the song ending again and Ian beckoning the pair up. Alfred took her hand and led her to the stairs up the stage, taking her directly to the piano.

From Lovino's spot leaning against the wall, he narrowed his eyes. What was that American doing, anyways? And why was he dragging Chiara into it?

Roderich stood up, showing her the easiest piece to read. Knowing some Italian, much to the surprise of Chiara, he told her a few bits about swing, moving her hands to be in the right spot above the keys and rapidly telling her how swing music worked. She simply listened with a focused expression, scanning over the music. After a few minutes, Roderich backed off, nodding at her, snapping his fingers to give her the beat. She nodded back, licking her lips.

Hesitating for a moment, she started playing what was in front of her, a piece starting with several measures of piano. The boys in the band exchanged looks of surprise, then grins. After a minute or so, Matthew, in the back, spun his trumpet in his hand, then lifted it to his lips, standing back up. The peice lost what was written, turning into an improvisation on Chiara's part as Matthew started to play, the sound of his trumpet ringing across the ballroom. The piano and trumpet played in a back-and-forth between the two musicians, a smile tugging at Chiara's lips.

Lovino's face had already cracked into a grin of pride in his sister, knowing she was fully confident up there. She was born to perform, he knew. She simply never got to.

An alto picked up his horn, turning the duet into a trio, then a trombone, and a tenor, as well as the bass, the guitar, the drums, the violin, the baritone saxophone. Slowly, the band figured out its little improvisation song, the musicians moving their bodies to the beat, picking up pace. Chiara's lips had widened, her smile growing as she kept playing with the addition of the rest of the band, bobbing her head and tapping her foot to the beat.

This was fun, she decided, and simple to understand. The music was catchy, too, the vibe contagious. It was a pity that good things don't last- all too soon, she found herself playing on her own again, the final notes sounding through the room. As the sound faded away, she put her hands in her lap, simply sitting there on the piano bench, unaware of the applause of the people in the room, who had mostly only stood or sat where they'd been, clapping their hands to the beat. They hadn't known what song it was, or what exactly to dance for it, but they didn't mind- The band was amazing. It was okay to just listen once in a while.

Alfred tapped the Italian on the shoulder, a grin on his face. "That was amazing!" he told her ecstatically. She looked up at him with wide green eyes, not understanding. He gave her a thumbs up, offering his hand for her again. Hesitantly, she took it, standing up, and Alfred turned her to the people, gesturing to her grandly. A blush colored her cheeks, clearly not one for excessive attention. "Miss Chiara, ev'rybody!"

The room swelled with applause, and Chiara gave a little curtsy shyly. Alfred grinned at her, then offered her his hand again to lead her off the stage. Chiara met his blue eyes with her emerald ones and pointed to the stairs. "Lasciare?" Alfred frowned, but nodded, not quite sure what she said. She took his hand, though, so he simply lead her off the stage -taking the stairs thank you very much, he wasn't about to make a lady jump off the front- to where Romano had materialized, his arms open for his sister and a grin on his face.

She let go of Alfred's hand and rushed to her brother, speaking in rapid Italian excitedly. Lovino picked her up and swung her around once before setting her down again and replying to her just as quickly. Alfred stood to the side, his hands in his pockets. The pair really looked like a family, and acted like it in more than just a sibling way. Were they all each other had left? He wondered what made them move to America. That wasn't something he was about to ask about, however. What kind of nosy person would do that?

The American was about to back away and go back on the stage to join the band once more when Lovino turned to him, still holding his sister by the waist. "So, _bastardo,_ she liked your little English lesson." Lovino's voice cloaked a threat - Of what, Alfred couldn't tell.

"Did she, now?" Alfred smiled a little. That was good. She'd enjoyed something, then. "How about playin' tha' piano?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, like Lovino hadn't known what he was talking about. "She sure seemed like she was havin' a righ' jazzy time up there."

Chiara recognized the word and chimed in, "Piano _è pianoforte, fratello!_" Clearly, she was quite enthusiastic about what she'd learned. Lovino smiled a little bit. She was positively elated, and it pleased him - He was worried his sister wouldn't really like the language and learning it. Just for the first night, this was a good sign.

_"Sì, lo è. Vuoi continuare ad imparare inglese da Alfred?" _He inquired. Jones was patient and obviously a good teacher, he mused. Would he teach her for free, maybe? At least until Lovino could pay him. Chiara nodded excitedly, and Lovino sighed. "Look, Jones. I really don't-a wanna even think about this, but would you-a teach her more? I can't-a pay you back until I get a good-a job, but I don't think she can-a go around here without knowing English."

Alfred adjusted his glasses. "Well, sure, Vargas, bu' ya don't need t' pay me fer nothin'. Ah, ah!" He held up a hand as Lovino started to protest. "I'd do sommat like tha' fer anyone. 's no big deal." He smiled, a grin that just makes a person trust someone. One of those grins that makes a girl's problems melt away and a guy give up some grudge he might hold against a brother- Have you got one of those people who make your will melt? That's what Alfred's grin does, even to a street man, hardened with business and a dysfunctional family.

Lovino groaned. "All right, all right, I won't pay you later." He sighed. "But you'd do it?"

The blond nodded. "Sure thing, jus' tell me when ya want me to, all righ'? Bu' righ' now, I gotta get back t' my band, take over fer Matt. Bet his lips're gettin' tired." He winked at Chiara. "Later, miss Chiara. See you 'round town, Romano." With that, Alfred turned around and hopped back up the steps, heading to his own brother, slapping him on the back and picking up his own trumpet.

The Italians watched them wordlessly for a few minutes as they laughed together about something, Alfred's face turning a little pink and his brother laughing harder, a few of the others in the band laughing as well. Lovino smiled a little bit - That was another family there, that band. A family of brothers. Hah. He hugged his sister a little tighter, and she leaned into him. "_Did you want to stay any longer, Chiara?" _he asked her.

"_Not if you're ready to go home, brother."_ She laced her fingers through his, bringing them to her lips and kissing his knuckles. "_I don't really mind either way."_

He smiled a little bit. "_Then let's go."_ He grabbed their coats and hats, helping her into hers like a good gentleman, and opened the door for her. She smiled as she slipped through into the chilly night, stars overhead. He took her hand, letting the door close behind them, and the two walked home to their little one-floor, tiny abode they were learning to call home.

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><p><em><strong>To be continued.<strong>_

_**Perhaps.**_


	2. Chapter 2

You see, for the two Italian siblings, life had always been difficult, and their home with their grandfather and younger siblings had never been home, per se. It was just a roof with walls and a bed, to them, and their abusive grandfather never welcomed them.

Let's start somewhere closer to the beginning.

Lovino Romulus Vargas was the oldest, the first. His parents had been thrilled, but soon had another child after two years—Chiara Rosa. They had been just as thrilled, delighted by their fortune as they had just managed to get enough land to start a vineyard, their father's dream. Lovino and Chiara quickly became the inseparable pair, always getting in trouble together as soon as Chiara could walk. They'd run around the small vineyard, charming the employees and playing in the shade with bits of string and rocks and flowers. Without fail, they came in to dinner covered in dust or mud every day, hand in hand.

Then the twins were born—Feliciano Vittore and Alice Vecinna. Chiara and Lovino faded from sight as the twins grew up, matching all the time and perfect little angels who could do no wrong.

Lovino and Chiara were virtually invisible unless they got in trouble.

So they ran away together, taking a jar of grape juice and a bag of crackers, carrying with them a warm blanket and their shoes in their hands. They didn't know how far away the city was, but they were positive they could get someone to care about them there.

They couldn't have made it if they tried, even without the storm that caught them as they walked down the road, hands tightly gripped together as they shivered in the onslaught of rain.

Nobody noticed that they were gone until long past their bedtime.

By that point, all the employees had gone home and the only people left on the vineyard were their parents and siblings. But nobody cared, right? Lovino and Chiara, seven and five respectively, were curled up in a ditch at the side of the muddied road, cowering under the bright red wool blanket, trying to hide from the storm. That was where they were found, trembling and crying and whimpering, terrified for their lives.

Lovino was given a harsh scolding immediately, there in the rain, for running away and planting stupid ideas in Chiara's head, stealing food, and being a pain in the butt. In simple terms. Of course, he was the problem, as the oldest and clearly the most problematic.

On the way back, Alice kicked him and Feliciano stuck out his tongue.

Chiara hit them both.

Lovino only pulled Chiara close to him and kept her there, even if not physically, all the time. Who would stick out for him like that but her, now?

Chiara was definitely the most loyal sister a kid could have, although she was terrified of thunder to the extreme since that incident. But Lovino always held her safe in a storm, so she didn't worry much.

The real problems started after their parents were killed in a car crash, and the four children were sent to their grandfather's house, at the ages of eleven, nine, and seven.

Now, to fully understand these problems, one must understand the grandfather of these children. Remus Vargas was a real asshole, to the bone. He just covered it with a mask of cheer and stupidity. He drank frequently in large amounts, and really, he wasn't as old as one might have thought. He was only in his fifties, and was still a womanizer. Remus had always been a troublemaker, playing with women's skirts and throwing rocks at animals.

Yes, Remus was a pain in the butt as a child and even worse as he grew older.

When he heard of his son's passing and that his grandchildren needed a home, he welcomed two with open arms, leaving the other two at the door.

Lovino and Chiara were used to it by now. With a soft pat on the younger's shoulder, Lovino smiled tiredly. "Nothing new. Just you wait, I'll make him notice us." Chiara only nodded, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. She wasn't supposed to cry anymore, unless nobody could hear her. And that was when the gentle, loving tradition of kissing each other's hands began, that very first day they lived in their grandfather's house, when Lovino took her hands from her face and pressed his lips to her knuckles. He had to make someone notice him, now. He knew his nonno wasn't a pleasant man. He was afraid they'd be beaten, their father had said he was often punished for things he did wrong.

So they took a room in the very corner of the house, which was given to them by a maid in Remus' vast collection. Had Lovino known the word, he would have labeled her as one of a thousand whores who would pass through the rooms unnoticed in their few short years there.

In the span of six years, Lovino and Chiara would indeed be punished for things they hadn't thought they'd done wrong, while their siblings were pampered and spoiled. It was only later that they learned the twins were doing the things the older pair had been scolded for—Angels, yeah right.

One night a few years later, Lovino was 15, Chiara was 13, it went too far while Remus was drunk. Lovino had been in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner with a maid, but the house heard a sudden crash and a wail, followed by angry bellowing of a drunken Roman. A loud slap echoed through the house, and Lovino shot up the stairs. He knew Chiara was cleaning up the table, and that had been a plate that just shattered. It had to be her that was apologizing through a wail, her voice wavering through her tears.

When he emerged upstairs, the scene was awful and made everything in his sight go red. Chiara was a crumpled heap on the floor and Remus was about to hit her with his belt, swaying dangerously as his sister sobbed on the floor, hands covered in cuts from the broken plate. Without a moment to spare, Lovino threw himself in between them, taking the blow as he grit his teeth, wrapping his arms around Chiara as Remus bellowed at him to move it.

Snap after snap, Lovino refused to cry out, even as Feliciano and Alice and the maids appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed. Shaking, he ran his fingers through Chiara's hair soothingly, knees crunching in the ceramic of the plate and probably cutting through the knees of his pants to his skin. Soft murmurs, a grunt at each snap. Just trying to calm Chiara down. When her sobs were easing off into hiccups and sniffles, he murmured softly in her ear, "Don't move an inch, sorella."

And then he stood, turned to face Remus, and threw a well-placed punch to his face, slamming him back into the cabinet of dishes behind him. Both men were all fury, then, snarling threats at each other. Chiara never moved, and Lovino never let Remus get close to her. It ended with a last snap of the belt, straight across Lovino's face. Another punch, and the last words spoken in the room were a low growl from Lovino. "Don't you dare even think about touching my sister."

As Remus retreated to his room, Feliciano and Alice stood there uncertainly. Had it been their fault? Feliciano had sneakily put butter on the rim of every plate, knowing Lovino and Chiara were cleaning up and would never get rid of the fat. What they hadn't known was that Remus was going to drink that night.

Gently, Lovino ignored the twins and pulled his sister up, turning his face so she wouldn't see the massive welt already rising.

That was when Chiara swore to follow him until she died, to stick with him.

The pair were the closest anyone could be.

Up in their room, Chiara saw the state Lovino was in as he fell to the ground, trembling from the pain. "Lovino!" she cried, absolutely terrified. "I-I—Why did you let him do that?" It was a dumb question, she knew the answer. Pulling out the pitcher of water they had in their

room, ignoring her burning hands, she tried desperately to pull him up to get him in his bed. "Please let me help you, big brother," she whispered. "Please…" She swallowed. He looked awful.

Lovino let her pull him to his bed, just sitting there with his fury still on his face. "How dare he even touch you, the bastard." A soft protest of "Lovino!" was uttered at his language, but she knew he needed to talk. "It isn't ever going to happen again. I'm going to get someone to help. This isn't right and it fucking hurts like a piece of barbed wire." He grit his teeth, slowly pulling his shirt off his torso. This was becoming routine, him getting a beating and her dragging him to their room they insisted they kept together, him pulling off whatever article of clothing he needed to without her getting flustered and nervous, patching him up and him grabbing her close, just holding her there as if to make sure she was unharmed and still there with him.

"Chiara… I want to go to the war."

She froze for a minute. She couldn't follow him there, it wasn't allowed. "Why would you want to go there?" she choked out. "You'll get killed!"

She had a point. Swallowing thickly as she saw the massive red lines crisscrossing his skin, usually so dark and fine, she set to work wiping them off with the water from the pitcher. They were hot to the touch, and she knew it must hurt horribly. He didn't even move, just tensed up as the cloth she was using brushed over the streaks. "Because then I won't have to deal with him. And I'll make some money, we can move far, far away from him." He turned, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his lips. "And then we'll both be safe forever."

Chiara stayed quiet, just watching him. "But I won't… Big brother, you're not even old enough," she tried weakly, terror rising in her chest. "Please don't leave me, big brother," she whispered. He was going to go, anyways, and she knew it.

"Chiara, you know it's the only way. I'll come home from the war, and I'll take you to America. Everyone's going there, it's so much better than here. We could have a vineyard, and you could meet someone and get married or something," he said convincingly. "You could be the best mother and sweetest wife, if there were someone worth marrying."

His hand lifted up to her cheek, soothing her. Chiara leaned into it, her own hands shaking in his. "But… Big brother, what if you don't come back?" she whispered. "You can't just leave me, he'll kill me!" Tears threatened to fall. "I can't stay here without you! You might not come back!"

Lovino shook his head, pulling her closer to him. "I swear I'll come back, sorellina. I can't leave you too long, hm?" He picked up her hands, taking the cloth from her shaking fingers. "Sorella, your hands…" The older frowned as the other bit her lip harshly. "Are you still sick, Chiara…?" he asked quietly. She'd gotten horribly sick the last year, so bad she couldn't even move aside from her violent trembling.

She shook her head. "Big brother, that hurts!" she whimpered as his fingers pressed against the long gashes in her hand from the plate. "Please…"

Lovino frowned deeply, then began to clean her cuts tenderly. "Sit down, pet." She obliged, abashed as he cleaned her cuts. "And would you rather I keep around here and deal with the friends?" She shook her head, looking around nervously.

"If you don't do… That stuff," she said uneasily, "then I guess… M-Maybe…" Chiara didn't want him to leave her alone.

"I promise," he said seriously. "I'll not even look at them."

She fell quiet.

"… Don't get killed."

Lovino left for war the next day.

Lovino Romulus Vargas returned from war after 12 months to a tearful younger sister with bruises littering her skin under her dress. She stood at the end of the driveway at the gate silently, an old faded red wool blanket around her shoulders.

As she slipped through the bars of the gate, making sure nobody in the house saw her, Lovino scooped her into a huge hug, breathing in the smell of her hair and clothes and home. Oh, brave young soldier, don't let your guard down quite yet.

They left that night, not a goodbye and not a string of attachment to the house that plagued their nightmares.

To the home of the brave with them—that was certainly what they were.

The brave young siblings, two of millions to leave for America.


End file.
